In Haiti the lwa or loa, the spirits of vodou, leave their home beneath the ocean, bas de l’eau to walk the earth and commune oh-so personally with us through the act of possessing. During a service, held often in a hougan or mambo’s (priests and priestesses of vodou) house in a room called the peristyle (vodou chapel) where music, dance and sacrifice swirl around a central post that represents the universe the lwa chooses and then rides a person like one rides a horse, taking the reigns and guiding them this way and that way to the beat of the drums; there they demand, promise and prophesise, dance and cavort, there they swear and say dirty crude things to offend and titillate. Joan Dayan wrote that from a Western vantage these gods of vodou might appear to lack a certain grandeur or transcendence, surrendering themselves to the “spectacle of ceremony with a kind of rough immediacy,” as the lwa of the dead particularly, not tied to a mortal coil nor suffer its tiresome consequences engage in animated exaggerated sexual behaviour, that is much comic as it is erotic, as the Gede (the dead) dance the banda, thrusting their hips to a staccato beat.
Sidestep:
Thus travelling throughout the transcendental realms of the multiverse in my search for a true gay lord I journey to the Caribbean and find an island deep in as much the violence of the past as it is the present. Haiti, a land shrouded in the myths of hollywood zombie movies and technicolour CNN television coverage of its violence and political unrest. Vodou has gotten itself a bad name, whether through the media and church attempts to discredit it, colonial and neo-colonial slander perhaps or maybe it’s sometimes close relationship with the island’s nastier side of sorcery for sale, I don’t know. Regardless vodou is a religion that traces its roots back to Western Africa and was brought to the Caribbean with slavery and thrived despite it or even because of it and is practiced often alongside the christian faiths, primarily catholic who consitutute about eighty percent of the population with little (if any) perceived contradiction with gods from Africa often portrayed using the same christian portraits they do the saints.
Well… it is not exactly the place you’d expect to find some homo-friendly god or religion; where priests and priestesses practice their faith and their sexuality with little moral prohibity. Mambo Racine Sans Bout, an initiated and ordained priestess of Haitian vodou writes that gay men and women though “rigorously excluded from Protestant congregations, and frowned upon in Catholic services” find in vodou an outlet for spiritual expression. Saying that there are a higher percentage gay people at vodou ceremonies and in the priesthood than represented in the general population, knowing of a few peristyles in Port-au-Prince that have congregations where being gay is an entry requirement. While not unknown the priestess continues, homophobic attacks in Haiti are not on the level that they are in other parts of the Caribbean, like Jamaica that have seen mob attacks and killings. Although male machismo is as high in Haiti as it is elsewhere in the region a high level of bisexual activity may point to why it doesn’t easily translate into violence against gay men (lesbians are another story).
Sidestep:
Erzulie Freda, a powerful and important lwa of the Rada nation who was born in Dahomey and brought with the boats that carried the slaves to the new world; Freda is portrayed as the epitome of grace and has the airs of virginal mercy that can be seen in the eyes of Mother Mary. She is fair skinned and very beautiful and is often seen wearing fine jewellery and is the lwa of ideas, hopes and aspirations and is often said to hold a special place in Her heart for gay men who inturn place Her as their met tet (ruling lwa). Yet She is also a woman says Bob Corbett on his Haiti page, who walks with “a saucy sway to her hips”, a lwa who is pleasure loving, taking delight dancing kissing and caressing men. Mambo Racine Sans Bout says that the gay men in Her sway dance wearing the fine colourful dresses that She loves. Thus like nowhere else in Haiti or in the Caribbean for that matter they may openly flirt with other men. Indeed it is in vodou ceremonies she says that gay men are above all prized as dancers combining their athletic prowess with the “voluptuousness of women.”
Contrasting the feminine Freda is that of Her Petwo sister Erzulie Dantor, a strong black woman who was born in the brutality of slavery in colonial Haiti. An enemy of Freda, it is said that the scars that adorn her black face were obtained battling Her pale and delicate sibling. With her Dantor carries knives that she willing to draw in the defence of the vulnerable, deploring violence against women and children and will seek vengeance upon the men who abuse them. While married with children she is said to lie with both men and women in her bed and is seen as something of a patron to lesbians.
Vodou is a religion born out of and in reaction to poverty, slavery and life times of suffering and as Joan Dayan argues, the lwa of vodou do not sit high, detached up in heaven but live, love, hate and suffer with their people. They do not stand above us in some glow of moral puritanism, nor is there a priest to stand in the way of communion simply because of the partner you sleep with... gasp.
Disclaimer
*I have not been to Haiti nor have a witnessed a vodou ceremony so my apologies if I have anyway misrepresented vodou, its believers or the lwa themselves. I promise you it has not been my intention.
References:
Websites:
- Richard Ammon, Gay Haiti 2003, Global Gays
- Mambo Racine Sans Bout, The Vodou Page:
Sex In Vodou
Homosexuality In Vodou
- Bob Corbett, Bob Corbett’s Haiti Page
NOTES ON CENTRAL LOA
- Kevin Filan, Ezili Danto: Single Mother with a Knife, Widdershins, vol 9 issue 5, 2006
- Wikipedia, Haiti
Essays:
- Joan Dayan, “Vodoun, or the Voice of the Gods”, Sacred Possessions: Vodou, Santería, Obeah and the Carribean, 1997, pp. 13-36.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
quote of the day
Walking down the steps into missinglink today, searching for Wheat album I couldn't find at JB I stumbled on an instore performance by grind band Fuck... I'm dead. Surrounded by a sea of black metal t-shirts and long unkept hair I stuck around and listened to a few songs, when lead singer Jay Jones said to the crowd "if you don't like someone, set them on fucking fire." Take of this what you will... but I shook my head and left the store, suffice to say I didn't get my CD.
halley's comet and a luminous trail of sentimentality
I remember my dad waking me in the early hours of the morning, and with stern prodding and despite my several determined attempts to fall back asleep he suceeded in getting me out of bed. It was 1986 and we were driving down an unsealed road in our '76 Holden Torana, binoculars on the passenger seat and my siblings and I in the back. I was six years old. We were to witness the comet that Edmond Halley had named and had last visited this bright blue globe in 1910 and wouldn't be back for another 76 years or so for its fifth flyby since Halley had spied it through his telescope. By all projections I'd be lucky to see it again.
My father has been dead now for about 15 years and like many father-son relationships it was a distant one. My father was an academic who spent most of his time in his room slash study and many of my memories about him involve a kiss to a face covered in stubble, as I had quietly interrupted him and his work to say 'night'. Someone recently told me that the love of a father is different to that of a mother but that it could nonetheless be found beneath all the anger, derision and disappointment aimed at his fat sad son. And then sometimes I think maybe Freud was right.
You know I even thought about telling him? It was less than a year before heart failure threw him to the ground. I was eleven and my grandmother was staying with us and in need to accommodate the Empress Dowager in our modest homestead my father and I were sleeping in a caravan we'd hired and parked in our driveway. I think it was really my brother who was supposed to sleep there instead but there had been an argument and a fight, with my father and brother falling into each other so clumsily and my mother screaming for them to stop... well perhaps this is why my father was sleeping out in the caravan and not in the house.
I was in bed and reading when my father came in. The book was about some ecologists fighting poachers in deep dark Africa, sort of a dumbed down 'Gorillas in the Mist' for children where justice and universal good sense prevail. Instead of the murdered researchers bodies being found their heads split by Hutu extremists who would go onto pile the land and rivers of Rwanda high with the bodies of their Tutsi neighbours.
I lay there nervously with the words sitting on my tongue but I said nothing, either because I was scared of how he would react or simply incapable of fully articulating my feelings at that age, I don't remember. But the lights went out in silence and I fell into sleep.
We left the car in a gravelled car park and made our way to the oval. The air was that kind of frigid that sets your skin taught so as to remind you of the boundaries of your self and the outside atmosphere and we stood still and looked up into the universe above and to be honest, even with the assistance of the binoculars I don't remember seeing very much at all; unable to tell the comet from the stars. Maybe there were too many clouds or too much light pollution but I was tired and unimpressed. So we headed back to the car with my father in silent irritation and whether he was angry at the comet or me I don't know.
I could of course try and recall this a little differently, construct an alternative memory to exist alongside this one where I was really awestruck by the sight through the binoculars of this streaking sliver of light. With my father crouched next to me helping me hold the binoculars, speaking in a soft warm tone explaining how this comet travels through cold dark space being warmed by the light and love of the sun that gave birth to it, causing it to stream and sparkle like the magnesium fire on top of your birthday cake. Crossing these skies striking fear, awe and joy into the hearts of many men, reminding us of our place in the world and those things that are really important.
I understood not a word of it yet given how much I saw of him I enjoyed just being near him and in hindsight am grateful to have had moments like this however fleeting before he too disappeared into the night.
My father has been dead now for about 15 years and like many father-son relationships it was a distant one. My father was an academic who spent most of his time in his room slash study and many of my memories about him involve a kiss to a face covered in stubble, as I had quietly interrupted him and his work to say 'night'. Someone recently told me that the love of a father is different to that of a mother but that it could nonetheless be found beneath all the anger, derision and disappointment aimed at his fat sad son. And then sometimes I think maybe Freud was right.
You know I even thought about telling him? It was less than a year before heart failure threw him to the ground. I was eleven and my grandmother was staying with us and in need to accommodate the Empress Dowager in our modest homestead my father and I were sleeping in a caravan we'd hired and parked in our driveway. I think it was really my brother who was supposed to sleep there instead but there had been an argument and a fight, with my father and brother falling into each other so clumsily and my mother screaming for them to stop... well perhaps this is why my father was sleeping out in the caravan and not in the house.
I was in bed and reading when my father came in. The book was about some ecologists fighting poachers in deep dark Africa, sort of a dumbed down 'Gorillas in the Mist' for children where justice and universal good sense prevail. Instead of the murdered researchers bodies being found their heads split by Hutu extremists who would go onto pile the land and rivers of Rwanda high with the bodies of their Tutsi neighbours.
I lay there nervously with the words sitting on my tongue but I said nothing, either because I was scared of how he would react or simply incapable of fully articulating my feelings at that age, I don't remember. But the lights went out in silence and I fell into sleep.
We left the car in a gravelled car park and made our way to the oval. The air was that kind of frigid that sets your skin taught so as to remind you of the boundaries of your self and the outside atmosphere and we stood still and looked up into the universe above and to be honest, even with the assistance of the binoculars I don't remember seeing very much at all; unable to tell the comet from the stars. Maybe there were too many clouds or too much light pollution but I was tired and unimpressed. So we headed back to the car with my father in silent irritation and whether he was angry at the comet or me I don't know.
I could of course try and recall this a little differently, construct an alternative memory to exist alongside this one where I was really awestruck by the sight through the binoculars of this streaking sliver of light. With my father crouched next to me helping me hold the binoculars, speaking in a soft warm tone explaining how this comet travels through cold dark space being warmed by the light and love of the sun that gave birth to it, causing it to stream and sparkle like the magnesium fire on top of your birthday cake. Crossing these skies striking fear, awe and joy into the hearts of many men, reminding us of our place in the world and those things that are really important.
I understood not a word of it yet given how much I saw of him I enjoyed just being near him and in hindsight am grateful to have had moments like this however fleeting before he too disappeared into the night.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
a giant wombat & me
For the last week and a half maybe I've had nightmare after nightmare. Almost every night a new one. It is getting to a point where I am beginning to wonder about my own mental state.
On sunday night I dreamt that I had angered a giant wombat. Perhaps it was a Diprotodon australis or a some great and terrible animal spirit of the land. Maybe it was both, I don't know but what I do know is that he took a particular disliking to me and for whatever reason he wanted me dead or at least severly crippled.
I ran from him as fast as I could to my house, the one that I grew up in. There an assortment of friends and family waited for me and as I told them of my plight one by one they made there excuses: shopping to be done, rock concerts to be seen, new countries to visit and they left me, abandoned me.
Meanwhile the great Diprotodont recruited many other animals to his cause, to aid him in my destruction. And they gathered around my house; a keen labrador stood by his side: his able lieutenant.
I rang every number I had on my phone in desperation: no answer, can't talk, too busy. I thought of places to hide, doors I could lock but a sense of finality gripped me and my stomach dropped. A wombat the size of a truck could easily smash any door, any lock, any wall that I might put between us.
I was grade A fucked.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
no silence in the graveyard
"... as silent as a graveyard," the English reader read.
"What is this?" my student asked underlining the word 'graveyard' with his finger.
I started explaining speaking clearly and carfully spacing my words: "It is a place where dead people are buried, where funerals are held when they die. Do you know the word cemetery?" And I knew he knew.
"Ah." He read the line again. "But in a graveyard..." reading the word slowly, sounding the syllables out with due care "... there is many noises and lights."
"What is this?" my student asked underlining the word 'graveyard' with his finger.
I started explaining speaking clearly and carfully spacing my words: "It is a place where dead people are buried, where funerals are held when they die. Do you know the word cemetery?" And I knew he knew.
"Ah." He read the line again. "But in a graveyard..." reading the word slowly, sounding the syllables out with due care "... there is many noises and lights."
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
fate of the ill handed messenger
Recent translations of a New Kingdom sarcophagus inscription, dating early in the 11th century BCE gives an inciteful glimpse into the religious life of ancient Egyptians.
"lo Anubis held the feather aloft, placeth upon the balance scales that only Thoth may read, that weigheth the heart of the deadman according to the life lived and if crimes were made against the goddess* in life, the man that never returned messages of text even when credit was owned his heart outweighed the feather of ma'at/truth and lo it was thrown into the mouth of Ammit the bone eater to die a second death."
See ancient wisdom bastards! So if someone text messages you it's only polite to reply. Be here warned.
*the goddess - Ma'at or truth, both a goddess and idea who is represented by a feather.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
more on my dreaming 2
Sick again and while I am blaming the latest dream on the fever that I am running, I do sometimes wonder why my dreaming life is far more exciting and imaginative than my waking one. I mean last night's dream reads like a Tom Clancy novel.
Here I am a CIA undercover agent operating in Africa who is ordered to sway a particular civil conflict in a way that is favourable to the US government. To do this I travel to of all places Havana, Cuba to recruit mercenaries that will fight and train local troops.
I could never ever admit this rather realpolitikal geopolitical fantasy to my lefty friends. They'd be all like "man" and I'd be all like "I know man but it's just a dream and it's not like I love the US, I hate them and think George Bush is stupid" but they'd be still like "man".
It'd be like admitting that I had a nocturnal emission about Alexander Downer... and I didn't... really... seriously.
the last I dreamt
Here I am a CIA undercover agent operating in Africa who is ordered to sway a particular civil conflict in a way that is favourable to the US government. To do this I travel to of all places Havana, Cuba to recruit mercenaries that will fight and train local troops.
I could never ever admit this rather realpolitikal geopolitical fantasy to my lefty friends. They'd be all like "man" and I'd be all like "I know man but it's just a dream and it's not like I love the US, I hate them and think George Bush is stupid" but they'd be still like "man".
It'd be like admitting that I had a nocturnal emission about Alexander Downer... and I didn't... really... seriously.
Monday, April 17, 2006
more on my dreaming
I dreamt another fantastical dream last night:
War had visited us once more, poking another of its ugly little hydra heads through the crust of the earth to breathe foul flame and death and destruction upon creation, upon the cities of this fair land. Hmmm … this is all a little too dramatic perhaps (and a little inappropriate) so I will endeavour to tone down the literary flourish just a tad and try to siphon off just a little of my own bathos if you will permit. And I am sure you will. Suffice to say the cities were not safe and while no declaration by our distant enemy had been made they had made veiled threats and my city had been on the top of the list of targets. So the atmosphere at home was palpable, thick and heavy-laden with fear and foreboding.
My apologies: there I go again with the over-acting prophesising end-of-the-world routine, I really must desist.
I absconded my responsibilities and took a little sojourn into the Victorian countryside and admitted my self into the best mental hospital money and privilege could buy. And while the title mental hospital is technically correct it is perhaps a little misleading, a term like Healing Farm might be more accurate and fitting at least in terms of the hospital’s marketing strategy. The Farm was built on a small Gippsland property not so far from Churchill and the staff were experienced and supportive, the facilities warm, friendly and very open; trips into town were frequent and encouraged so we spent our time there watching movies, doing chores, and of course talking about ourselves and our problems whether it was in group or over cake and coffee in town.
It’s not that I wasn’t sick as I’d been depressed for years and quite frankly I fitted in there better than I had anywhere else in all the days of my life but there was something not right…. and then I was woken by my mobile phone feeling a little unsettled.
the last I dreamt
War had visited us once more, poking another of its ugly little hydra heads through the crust of the earth to breathe foul flame and death and destruction upon creation, upon the cities of this fair land. Hmmm … this is all a little too dramatic perhaps (and a little inappropriate) so I will endeavour to tone down the literary flourish just a tad and try to siphon off just a little of my own bathos if you will permit. And I am sure you will. Suffice to say the cities were not safe and while no declaration by our distant enemy had been made they had made veiled threats and my city had been on the top of the list of targets. So the atmosphere at home was palpable, thick and heavy-laden with fear and foreboding.
My apologies: there I go again with the over-acting prophesising end-of-the-world routine, I really must desist.
I absconded my responsibilities and took a little sojourn into the Victorian countryside and admitted my self into the best mental hospital money and privilege could buy. And while the title mental hospital is technically correct it is perhaps a little misleading, a term like Healing Farm might be more accurate and fitting at least in terms of the hospital’s marketing strategy. The Farm was built on a small Gippsland property not so far from Churchill and the staff were experienced and supportive, the facilities warm, friendly and very open; trips into town were frequent and encouraged so we spent our time there watching movies, doing chores, and of course talking about ourselves and our problems whether it was in group or over cake and coffee in town.
It’s not that I wasn’t sick as I’d been depressed for years and quite frankly I fitted in there better than I had anywhere else in all the days of my life but there was something not right…. and then I was woken by my mobile phone feeling a little unsettled.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
dead flag blues
Heard a tune by God Speed You Black Emperor called The Dead Flag Blues today and I scrawled this down on a series of receipts that I had in my wallet. Apparently the dialogue is part of some film one of the band members efrim has been working on. So if your feeling like you just wish the world would end now now now, like I am, then as Molly Meldrum says: "Do yourself a favour, check it out" and revel in it.
Transcription:
The car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows
The government is corrupt
and we're all on so many drugs with the radio on
and the curtains drawn
We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death
the sun is fallen down and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles
It went like this
the buildings topled in on themselves
mothers clutching babies
picked throught the rubble and pulled out their hair
The skyline was all beautiful on fire
all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze
I said kiss me you're beautiful
these are truely the last days
You grabbed my hand and we fell into it
like a daydream or fever
Transcription:
The car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows
The government is corrupt
and we're all on so many drugs with the radio on
and the curtains drawn
We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death
the sun is fallen down and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles
It went like this
the buildings topled in on themselves
mothers clutching babies
picked throught the rubble and pulled out their hair
The skyline was all beautiful on fire
all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze
I said kiss me you're beautiful
these are truely the last days
You grabbed my hand and we fell into it
like a daydream or fever
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Oh my gay Lord!
Now despite some genuine and heartfelt attempts by some on both sides of the picketed fence of the sexual divide, gays and lesbians are not generally accepted let alone catered for in contemporary mainstream religion. Now there are those amongst the faithful who would take me to task on this telling me that they readily accept homosexuals but—I would ask them—do you really? Do you accept them but not their sins or some other idiotic mantra? I personally would be hard pressed to think of too many faiths that don’t place some form of moral restriction upon gays and lesbians, from celibacy and guilt-ridden self-denial to out-right heterosexual conversion aka ex-gay ministries but don’t get me wrong there are plenty of groups out there that are bent on challenging the establishment like the Metropolitan Community Church and Al Fatiha but they’re just that: challenging, fighting the system line by line, verse by verse so that G-d, Jesus and Allah open there arms and welcome us into heaven so that talk of smashing sodomite heads on the sides of mountains all becomes resigned to history as a bad and unhelpful interpretation (and there have been many to go that way), that they are viewed as an insignificance to be absorbed by a greater understanding of the word of God. But alas this is not how things are going. The way things stands most religions are pretty uncomfortable with same-sex couples and as the Anglican church threatens to schism, their conservative elements use the gay-card to wrestle control of their church back out of the hands of the more liberal elements, fundamentalists in the Moslem world (among others) describe homosexuality as a western disease to be stamped out and decree horrible punishment for those found practicing it.
But who are we to pray to then? Are we then a godless bunch, the unchosen children, the un-inheritors of God’s kingdom? I downright refuse to accept that I am the willing servant of Satan as some have labelled me so then what are we to do? Surely there is in the great pantheon of heaven one god who will stand up and be counted to protect the gays and lesbians amongst us. Surely!
It is fine to say that God loves us despite our sins but who is willing to say God loves us because of our sins, or who sees love between two men or women as a beautiful thing? Who is it then that I ask for divine intervention when I want to go to bed with this really cute guy that I met the other night? What ceremony do I perform upon a prophylactic so that its latex skin stays true and unbroken and then what words of thanks do I utter when he calls me the next day?
This is my project.
But who are we to pray to then? Are we then a godless bunch, the unchosen children, the un-inheritors of God’s kingdom? I downright refuse to accept that I am the willing servant of Satan as some have labelled me so then what are we to do? Surely there is in the great pantheon of heaven one god who will stand up and be counted to protect the gays and lesbians amongst us. Surely!
It is fine to say that God loves us despite our sins but who is willing to say God loves us because of our sins, or who sees love between two men or women as a beautiful thing? Who is it then that I ask for divine intervention when I want to go to bed with this really cute guy that I met the other night? What ceremony do I perform upon a prophylactic so that its latex skin stays true and unbroken and then what words of thanks do I utter when he calls me the next day?
This is my project.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
the only gay in the village
My uncle would visit us every couple of years and after knocking back a few drinks would proceed to tell us kids what exactly was wrong with the world.
"Don't get me wrong but what those poofs do to each other really disgusts me but look if they can keep their hands to themselves, stay celibate, you know then I have no problem with that," he took a sip from the beer that my mum had bought especially for his visit. As my dad had died a few years before there'd seemed no sense in keeping alcohol around the house anymore.
"There was this gentleman who lived in my town in Tassie back when I used to work at the mill. Now everyone knew he was a poof and while we might'n't have said it aloud, I mean he never pranced around or wore dresses but you could just tell in the way he would look at you. But you know he never did anything with any blokes at least not that I knew of; he just kinda kept to himself. You would see him drinking in the pub on a Friday night sometimes amongst a group from the mill but usually alone.
"Now I know that some of the guys from around the town roughed him up a few times but I had never had anything to do with it. As far as I am concerned if they keeping it in their pants I don't see anyone should have a problem with that but I suppose if he had been all la-de-da it would've made things worse for him."
But then it goes to show you can do the right thing by some people and still get fucked.
"Don't get me wrong but what those poofs do to each other really disgusts me but look if they can keep their hands to themselves, stay celibate, you know then I have no problem with that," he took a sip from the beer that my mum had bought especially for his visit. As my dad had died a few years before there'd seemed no sense in keeping alcohol around the house anymore.
"There was this gentleman who lived in my town in Tassie back when I used to work at the mill. Now everyone knew he was a poof and while we might'n't have said it aloud, I mean he never pranced around or wore dresses but you could just tell in the way he would look at you. But you know he never did anything with any blokes at least not that I knew of; he just kinda kept to himself. You would see him drinking in the pub on a Friday night sometimes amongst a group from the mill but usually alone.
"Now I know that some of the guys from around the town roughed him up a few times but I had never had anything to do with it. As far as I am concerned if they keeping it in their pants I don't see anyone should have a problem with that but I suppose if he had been all la-de-da it would've made things worse for him."
But then it goes to show you can do the right thing by some people and still get fucked.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
the occult activities and manifestations survey and evidence for my demonic possession
A colleague at work today told me that word around the office was that I was insane. Although I am pretty sure she was joking, plagued with self-doubt I asked myself whether this could this be true. After an extensive search on the internet I made a most disturbing discovery on the world-wide-web that not only might I suffer from a mental illness I could also be POSSESSED! The Occult Activities and Manifestations Survey that was designed by Rex Rosenberg a conservative christian clinical psychologist and chief evaluator of sexual offenders at Larned State Hospital in Kansas offers a less earthly means of understanding and hopefully battling 'mental illness' or DEMONIC POSSESSION. His belief in what he terms demonically-mediated dissociation (DMD) caused some controversy amongst many of his (non-believer) colleagues and his attempt to gain any formal recognition of this side-project was turned down, his submission to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders for DMD was rejected.
For all those who witnessed the final and rather confronting episode of the SBS comedy John Safran vs GOD that aired in late 2004, where Melburnian comedian Safran is exorcised by American Bob Larson of all the demons that had been accumulating throughout his show. At the beginning of the episode Safran was asked to fill out a rather in depth survey relating to his contact with the occult: a lengthy list indeed. The Rosenberg questionnaire, similar in its purpose to the Larson one is designed first to identify whether a patient is possessed (probably) and then next determine the exact nature of the creature inhabiting them.
And indeed what better way to do this is to have this patient sit down with a seven page survey (in the case of Rosenberg's questionnaire- sorry mother nature I printed it out) with a black biro in hand and circle where appropriate. How very civil. I am not sure Blatty would have approved. Now I am not trained as a psychologist or a pastoral counsellor so I am not sure how I’m supposed to interpret my results so if someone who is happens to be reading this please offer me your opinion.
I must confess I don't believe in God so I score pretty poorly on that front in the survey. When questions 20, 21 and 22 (to name a few) ask whether I feel hostility to, or rejection to Jesus of Nazareth or the Holy Spirit, the Bible or would describe myself as agnostic or atheist I was forced to circle yes. This generally extended to being unable to pray to God or Jesus and I must admit at times I have found it hard to read the Bible. Although I'd always thought it was because the book was not much of a page turner and not a sign of demonic infestation, nashing teeth and blasphemous profanities and the like. Then again I did have trouble sitting through Mel Gibson’s The Passion and I do wholeheartedly deny that this film was the word of God, inspired or otherwise. So maybe Rosenberg has a point there.
Next I admitted to experiencing puzzling phenomena in the environment (question 50) and that I could find myself in “Trances” throughout the day, unable move or speak but knew what was going on around me. Although these question were a tad vague I could see how they could apply to the modern cubicled office life I live. So I circled yes to a sense of extreme anxiety and admitted to feeling that my attention span would suddenly become impaired, followed by a sense of powerlessness akin to some external force affecting me or having power over me.
In question 61 I circled yes to smelling strong foul odours, finding this largely related to my earlier admission to hearing “growling” sounds inside the body which was no doubt connected to my later confession to my personal involvement with Hare Krishnas, namely eating at their vegetarian restaurant Crossways on Swanston Street in the city.
Then we turn to the topic of Homosexuality, a question that pops up several times in the questionnaire and finds itself amongst the promptings for vomiting or coughing of phlegm in response to prayer, eyes turning red or yellow when very angry (cool) and eating feces, and I suppose I am guilty as charged (to homosexuality that is). I thus admitted to having personal involvement in homosexual fornication (scribbling ‘although not enough of it’ on the margin of the page) and the use of pornographic books and movies (due to a lack of the former). I then proceeded to circle yes to seeing fairies and having contact with an ascended master. And while I am not sure exactly what an ascended master is and being something of innocent in ways of S&M, I circled it nonetheless because it sounded like it might be fun.
Finally I admitted to liking and listening to Heavy Metal music, finding that it makes a great workout soundtrack, and while it might be hard for myself to admit I did play dungeons & dragons with some friends over beers and pizza while I was doing my undergrad Arts degree. But it was only the once.
True I do not levitate or generally feel like I am possessed by a dead person. Nor do I have a irrational fear of annointing oil or had sex with a Succubus or an Incubus for that matter.
Nevertheless do you think I am possessed? I throw it out to the audience.
occult activities and manifestions survey
conflicting views about multiple personality disorder
For all those who witnessed the final and rather confronting episode of the SBS comedy John Safran vs GOD that aired in late 2004, where Melburnian comedian Safran is exorcised by American Bob Larson of all the demons that had been accumulating throughout his show. At the beginning of the episode Safran was asked to fill out a rather in depth survey relating to his contact with the occult: a lengthy list indeed. The Rosenberg questionnaire, similar in its purpose to the Larson one is designed first to identify whether a patient is possessed (probably) and then next determine the exact nature of the creature inhabiting them.
And indeed what better way to do this is to have this patient sit down with a seven page survey (in the case of Rosenberg's questionnaire- sorry mother nature I printed it out) with a black biro in hand and circle where appropriate. How very civil. I am not sure Blatty would have approved. Now I am not trained as a psychologist or a pastoral counsellor so I am not sure how I’m supposed to interpret my results so if someone who is happens to be reading this please offer me your opinion.
I must confess I don't believe in God so I score pretty poorly on that front in the survey. When questions 20, 21 and 22 (to name a few) ask whether I feel hostility to, or rejection to Jesus of Nazareth or the Holy Spirit, the Bible or would describe myself as agnostic or atheist I was forced to circle yes. This generally extended to being unable to pray to God or Jesus and I must admit at times I have found it hard to read the Bible. Although I'd always thought it was because the book was not much of a page turner and not a sign of demonic infestation, nashing teeth and blasphemous profanities and the like. Then again I did have trouble sitting through Mel Gibson’s The Passion and I do wholeheartedly deny that this film was the word of God, inspired or otherwise. So maybe Rosenberg has a point there.
Next I admitted to experiencing puzzling phenomena in the environment (question 50) and that I could find myself in “Trances” throughout the day, unable move or speak but knew what was going on around me. Although these question were a tad vague I could see how they could apply to the modern cubicled office life I live. So I circled yes to a sense of extreme anxiety and admitted to feeling that my attention span would suddenly become impaired, followed by a sense of powerlessness akin to some external force affecting me or having power over me.
In question 61 I circled yes to smelling strong foul odours, finding this largely related to my earlier admission to hearing “growling” sounds inside the body which was no doubt connected to my later confession to my personal involvement with Hare Krishnas, namely eating at their vegetarian restaurant Crossways on Swanston Street in the city.
Then we turn to the topic of Homosexuality, a question that pops up several times in the questionnaire and finds itself amongst the promptings for vomiting or coughing of phlegm in response to prayer, eyes turning red or yellow when very angry (cool) and eating feces, and I suppose I am guilty as charged (to homosexuality that is). I thus admitted to having personal involvement in homosexual fornication (scribbling ‘although not enough of it’ on the margin of the page) and the use of pornographic books and movies (due to a lack of the former). I then proceeded to circle yes to seeing fairies and having contact with an ascended master. And while I am not sure exactly what an ascended master is and being something of innocent in ways of S&M, I circled it nonetheless because it sounded like it might be fun.
Finally I admitted to liking and listening to Heavy Metal music, finding that it makes a great workout soundtrack, and while it might be hard for myself to admit I did play dungeons & dragons with some friends over beers and pizza while I was doing my undergrad Arts degree. But it was only the once.
True I do not levitate or generally feel like I am possessed by a dead person. Nor do I have a irrational fear of annointing oil or had sex with a Succubus or an Incubus for that matter.
Nevertheless do you think I am possessed? I throw it out to the audience.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
crimes of cohabitation
It's true. It's official. I really am a bad house mate. Not only am I anti-social and don't clean the bathroom but when switching off the iron this morning I accidently turned the freezer off. So effectively I left the iron on all day and let the freezer defrost but thankfully the house didn't burn down and there was no meat in the freezer to go bad. Indeed the fates did smile fondly down upon me this evening. My housemate who seems to be avoiding me at the moment came home from work late and is thus wholely unaware of my crimes; so am I going to tell her? Fuck no.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
prayer for the traveller
Oh Lord, oh God of progress, monster of the sky, one who takes the oceans in your stride I ask you to tear asunder, your skin slip and disappear, your engines burn and flame and fail and fall away. In fire render me into nothing, destroy me in jet propellant flame into ash so that I might be reborn; made again my bone and skin and sinews of muscle. Obliterate me oh Lord so I might begin again.
AMEN
AMEN
Monday, February 06, 2006
valentines day approaches
It is that time of year when all those lucky enough to be in a relationship get to talk oh so loudly about hallmark conspiracies and other corporate highway robberies, how february 14 is just another day on the calendar and Valentine was just more smoke and mirrors, the creation of a middle ages church wanting to usurp another pagan holiday. But here I am about to let another Valentines day pass me by and all I can think about is sitting in some high school classroom aged 16, oh too fat and heavy, miserable in the summer heat refusing to take off that woolen school-jumper and I knew then instinctfully that this day, St Valentine's Day would always be tinged with bitterness and loneliness. That I would then sit in my room at home and write bad metal lyrics with my less than subtle allusions to suicide and back in the present with only the barest minimum distance that irony allows me I embrace this day as mine and I dedicate it to some poor make-believe martyr whose church will no longer acknowledge him and to those pagan gods whose festival has been co-opted first by a religion bent on winning converts and now by greeting card companies set on making money. We are the hapless victims of this holiday and with forboding and the weight of history, theirs and mine, Valentines Day approaches.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
dr spankenstein
From the studio that brought you such homo-porn monster classics as Cum-sucking Vampires and Nightmare Attack of the WereBears comes director José Vasquez’s most accomplished work: Spankenstein. This 1970s classic has been digitally remastered and dubbed into English from the original Spanish for your viewing pleasure.
With the death of Johnnie Romeiro, one of gay porn’s true gods, famous for his gorgeously fine body and bubble buttocks, his eagerly adventurous stage performances and not to mention an 11 inch member, the news that his MGB Roadster convertible had careened off a sea-side cliff during the filming of his latest film sent the gay-world into morning. Rainbow flags everywhere flew at half-mast with the gay ambassador to the United Nations declaring an international day of morning.
Meanwhile in Romeiro’s home town the bookish but nonetheless beautiful gay-scientist Dr Augusto Spankenstein renown for his unorthodox methods channelled his grief into his work: bringing Johnnie Romeiro back to life. Midnight: making his way through the impeccably maintained gay quarter of the town’s cemetery passing headstones shaped like Mae West’s lips and stately stone phalluses that stand erect like Egyptian obelisks, Spankenstein located the dead star’s grave below a majestic bronze statue of a rather well endowed angel and began to dig.
Back at his laboratory Spankenstein got to work. What hadn’t been widely reported in the papers was that Romeiro had lost a leg and his right hand in the crash but with contacts in the Sacred Heart of the Screaming Queen, a local hospital the Doctor was able to locate the replacement parts and using the latest in mad-scientist diodes and electrodes, the power of lightening and the gravitational pull of the planet, Spankenstein made Romeiro whole and brought him back to life.
What Spankenstein didn’t know at the time was that this second-hand right hand was once the property of a rather stern Headmaster of a particular stern private boys high school and after an immensely passionate encounter with his creation Spankenstein finds that the hand remembers only too well its former role in the administering of punishment. Buttocks red and raw his creation abandons him to wreak horrible spanking destruction upon the world.
Will his Spankenstein’s monster be his downfall?*
Spankenstein is out now through Halcón.
*Academic note: Spankenstein is largely seen as an allegory for Vasquez’s struggle with his own sexuality, which by this time had come into conflict with his traditional Catholic upbringing. After rediscovering God some time after the films release Vasquez denied having ever made this or any other of his films.
With the death of Johnnie Romeiro, one of gay porn’s true gods, famous for his gorgeously fine body and bubble buttocks, his eagerly adventurous stage performances and not to mention an 11 inch member, the news that his MGB Roadster convertible had careened off a sea-side cliff during the filming of his latest film sent the gay-world into morning. Rainbow flags everywhere flew at half-mast with the gay ambassador to the United Nations declaring an international day of morning.
Meanwhile in Romeiro’s home town the bookish but nonetheless beautiful gay-scientist Dr Augusto Spankenstein renown for his unorthodox methods channelled his grief into his work: bringing Johnnie Romeiro back to life. Midnight: making his way through the impeccably maintained gay quarter of the town’s cemetery passing headstones shaped like Mae West’s lips and stately stone phalluses that stand erect like Egyptian obelisks, Spankenstein located the dead star’s grave below a majestic bronze statue of a rather well endowed angel and began to dig.
Back at his laboratory Spankenstein got to work. What hadn’t been widely reported in the papers was that Romeiro had lost a leg and his right hand in the crash but with contacts in the Sacred Heart of the Screaming Queen, a local hospital the Doctor was able to locate the replacement parts and using the latest in mad-scientist diodes and electrodes, the power of lightening and the gravitational pull of the planet, Spankenstein made Romeiro whole and brought him back to life.
What Spankenstein didn’t know at the time was that this second-hand right hand was once the property of a rather stern Headmaster of a particular stern private boys high school and after an immensely passionate encounter with his creation Spankenstein finds that the hand remembers only too well its former role in the administering of punishment. Buttocks red and raw his creation abandons him to wreak horrible spanking destruction upon the world.
Will his Spankenstein’s monster be his downfall?*
Spankenstein is out now through Halcón.
*Academic note: Spankenstein is largely seen as an allegory for Vasquez’s struggle with his own sexuality, which by this time had come into conflict with his traditional Catholic upbringing. After rediscovering God some time after the films release Vasquez denied having ever made this or any other of his films.
Friday, January 20, 2006
my own private apocalypse
As you’ve probably guessed I have a fascination with things religious. Some have labelled it a sick obsession, suggesting that a hobby of collecting flyers that certain Christian groups hand out at the corner of Burke and Swanston in the city was a strange thing to have. “Heaven: The Club of Clubs” says a glossy coloured business-card I was handed sometime back. Picturing Jesus in a leather trench-coat, wearing dark-glasses it says “Free Entry: If you know the bouncer.” Corker that one I must say… especially when Bouncer Jesus actually looks like the un-dead Rasputin. Life’s like a nightclub the card continues as “we all run with crowd”, convinced that “lies, lust, homosexuality, hate, etc are O.K…”; loving the oh so casual etcetera. But then Heaven is also like a nightclub; you don’t get in unless you’re invited. And suffice to say Hell it ain't no party.
The motivation for all this I guess is a curiosity, a wish to sense the transcendal, touch the eternal and feel as though I was part of something bigger than myself. But I have a problem, call if a handicap if you will but I simply cannot believe. A guy I met at church one time, engaged in an argument asked me: “how can you not believe?” Acting as though I was denying myself sensations that were almost certainly there. I was taken aback, totally agape. What do you mean how can I not believe? How can you believe!?! How can you go around preaching and judging others, so certain in yourself that your belief isn't anything more than consoling yourself with the ultimate fact that you’re going to die?
Part of me wants to believe yet I think god is man-made and angels are nothing more to me than homo-erotic fantasies. All this considered what religion could possibly suit me?
I found a quiz on the internet the other day. It is supposed to determine the religion best suited to you. I was kind of hoping I’d get something out of left field, something that would take some accomodating in my life, it'd make me more disciplined like with Islam or make me more fun at parties like say Voodoo. But alas my suggested spiritual path the Belief-o-matic tells me I “scored as agosticism.” Well that cleared it all up for me: the perfect religion for me is some wishy-washy non-belief. Christ!
I could also be a Buddhist.
Link:
belief-o-matic
The motivation for all this I guess is a curiosity, a wish to sense the transcendal, touch the eternal and feel as though I was part of something bigger than myself. But I have a problem, call if a handicap if you will but I simply cannot believe. A guy I met at church one time, engaged in an argument asked me: “how can you not believe?” Acting as though I was denying myself sensations that were almost certainly there. I was taken aback, totally agape. What do you mean how can I not believe? How can you believe!?! How can you go around preaching and judging others, so certain in yourself that your belief isn't anything more than consoling yourself with the ultimate fact that you’re going to die?
Part of me wants to believe yet I think god is man-made and angels are nothing more to me than homo-erotic fantasies. All this considered what religion could possibly suit me?
I found a quiz on the internet the other day. It is supposed to determine the religion best suited to you. I was kind of hoping I’d get something out of left field, something that would take some accomodating in my life, it'd make me more disciplined like with Islam or make me more fun at parties like say Voodoo. But alas my suggested spiritual path the Belief-o-matic tells me I “scored as agosticism.” Well that cleared it all up for me: the perfect religion for me is some wishy-washy non-belief. Christ!
I could also be a Buddhist.
Link:
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
neuro-seismology
A guy a know from work suffered a pre-stroke on Friday. I am not really a medical-knowing kinda guy but it seems to me that a pre-stroke is somewhat analogous to tremor in the ground before an earthquake. He woke up on Friday night, drooling uncontrolably and as things further deteriorated he lost the ability to speak and found using his hands increasingly difficult. As I listened his description on the phone I imagined myself gripped in the fear as my body stopped working knowing I was going to die. I made the frantic push in any direction to stay alive. He told me that had is legs not worked he would have been majorly fucked (pardon my french). As it stood he was able to get help and his family got him to a hospital but he was told by our lords of science the doctors that had the stroke hit him in the right side, the other side of his brain it might have stopped his heart. And that this little tremor was the harbinger, the herald of a stroke that would most certainly end his life.
He's now on medication to try and prevent this from happening.
I sent him a "get well soon" card today but because he's a contractor my work won't do anything official.
He's now on medication to try and prevent this from happening.
I sent him a "get well soon" card today but because he's a contractor my work won't do anything official.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
dinosaur adventure land
Planning your next holiday? Do yourself a favour and swing by Pensacola Florida where you'll find Dinosaur Adventure Land, the latest addition to the must-see American theme-park experience. A place where good decent law-abiding folk can come and learn the truth about Earth's History. The website promises "fun for all ages" and indeed Dinosaur Adventure Land is "one of the most amazing Creation Parks in the world." Challange yourself, your mind and your eternal soul to have some fun, some fun at Dinosaur Adventure Land.
"You can believe that you came from a rock, or you can believe that a loving God created you for a purpose."
We are told at school and by the media that by the time mankind had left the trees the dinosaurs had been dead 60 million years. That some catastrophe wiped them out because they could not evolve to suit the changing environment. Evolution they tell us answers everthing. Yet there is nothing, a media blackout, conspiracy of silence, about the indisputable and undeniable flaws of this theory. While evolutionists can show in a laboratory that mutation of viruses can mutate and thus evolve on a microevolutionist level (or what we call biblically non-threatening science) there is no evidence to support evolution on a larger level: what is called macroevolution or abiogenesis (or how we evolved from dirty monkeys). The later requires the earth to be very old indeed. So much we are told as truths are merely theories based in guess work. To maintain objectivity we must remember to keep and an open mind and question those things we are told to accept as truths. This is what true science and is all about.
There are some very important questions that beg asking. When did the the dinosaurs really die out? Did they perhaps live alongside in harmony with mankind not so long ago? Could they even be alive today?
The Bible has a lot of things to say about dinosaurs. It even mentions them directly on multiple occasions. For instance Job refers to a creature not unlike the brachiosaurus. Could the behemoth really be a dinosaur?
"(15)Behold now behemoth which I made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox. (16) Lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force hs force is in th navel of his belly. (17)He moveth his tail like a cedar: the sinews of his stones are wrapped together."
Think for yourself but the answer is yes. Of course it is, it cannot be denied and is actually true. Dinosaurs were actually created by God to live with man in the garden of Eden in harmony. Haven't you seen the Flinstones? Fred had a pet dinosaur and what's more he worked with dinosaurs every day at work. They were the God-ordained tools of his trade. There was even an episode where a pterydactl was used to carve a "photo" from inside a little box. Truely amazing.
Geologists and paleontologists do not readily accept that fossilisation can happen in less than a second and those who do, who support this snap fossilisation hypothosis are shouted down and harrassed. At Dinosaur Adventure Land we learn how to challenge and conquer such irrational evolutionist dogma with the warm and loving hand of truth, where we learn that the mass extinction of life on earth seen in rock formations may not have been caused by a meteorite but is probably evidence of a massive global flood.
Maybe dinosaurs are still around. Ever heard of the loch ness monster? Well then... case and point.
During the thousand year reign of Christ we will live again with our dinosaur bretheren but until then Dinosaur Adventure Land will have to do. Go to Dinosaur Adventure Land because it is fun for the whole family.
Links:
http://www.dinosauradventureland.com/
The Bible
"You can believe that you came from a rock, or you can believe that a loving God created you for a purpose."
We are told at school and by the media that by the time mankind had left the trees the dinosaurs had been dead 60 million years. That some catastrophe wiped them out because they could not evolve to suit the changing environment. Evolution they tell us answers everthing. Yet there is nothing, a media blackout, conspiracy of silence, about the indisputable and undeniable flaws of this theory. While evolutionists can show in a laboratory that mutation of viruses can mutate and thus evolve on a microevolutionist level (or what we call biblically non-threatening science) there is no evidence to support evolution on a larger level: what is called macroevolution or abiogenesis (or how we evolved from dirty monkeys). The later requires the earth to be very old indeed. So much we are told as truths are merely theories based in guess work. To maintain objectivity we must remember to keep and an open mind and question those things we are told to accept as truths. This is what true science and is all about.
There are some very important questions that beg asking. When did the the dinosaurs really die out? Did they perhaps live alongside in harmony with mankind not so long ago? Could they even be alive today?
The Bible has a lot of things to say about dinosaurs. It even mentions them directly on multiple occasions. For instance Job refers to a creature not unlike the brachiosaurus. Could the behemoth really be a dinosaur?
"(15)Behold now behemoth which I made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox. (16) Lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force hs force is in th navel of his belly. (17)He moveth his tail like a cedar: the sinews of his stones are wrapped together."
Think for yourself but the answer is yes. Of course it is, it cannot be denied and is actually true. Dinosaurs were actually created by God to live with man in the garden of Eden in harmony. Haven't you seen the Flinstones? Fred had a pet dinosaur and what's more he worked with dinosaurs every day at work. They were the God-ordained tools of his trade. There was even an episode where a pterydactl was used to carve a "photo" from inside a little box. Truely amazing.
Geologists and paleontologists do not readily accept that fossilisation can happen in less than a second and those who do, who support this snap fossilisation hypothosis are shouted down and harrassed. At Dinosaur Adventure Land we learn how to challenge and conquer such irrational evolutionist dogma with the warm and loving hand of truth, where we learn that the mass extinction of life on earth seen in rock formations may not have been caused by a meteorite but is probably evidence of a massive global flood.
Maybe dinosaurs are still around. Ever heard of the loch ness monster? Well then... case and point.
During the thousand year reign of Christ we will live again with our dinosaur bretheren but until then Dinosaur Adventure Land will have to do. Go to Dinosaur Adventure Land because it is fun for the whole family.
Links:
http://www.dinosauradventureland.com/
The Bible
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
every man is an island
Maybe you're right that this is the ineveitable come-down, the crash we were all expecting from the MDMA I took on New Years eve. "You feel as though the world is going to end," someone told me but then I feel this whenever the neuro-chems in my head or whatever the fuck down turns my mood into black holes of bad goth poetry, so to say this isn't a new or remarkable experience is an understatement. So fuck it all. We all live and die alone.
To bring this all into my bad goth conclusion: Tristan da Cunha is the most isolated (inhabited) island in the world being 2800 kms from landfall in South Africa and it is through this poorly explored alegory that I make this tired late night comment on the human condition... and here's a link to a related website:
http://www.sthelena.se/tristan/tristan.htm
In this seeming isolation (at least according to this website) the inhabitants thrived. In 1961 a volcanic eruption forced the entire population to relocate temporarily. When the all clear was given, the website writes, "Almost all chose to return to the island" two years later resisting the temptations of "civilisation" and thus the fair citizens of Tristan da Cunha went onto live happily ever after. They say that "The Union Jack flies over the houses, and the hearts of the islanders are as warm and generous as they have always been." We are all alone... but it ain't all bad. What a crazed mess it all be if we couldn't retain some sense of indivuality.
Enough of the glib statements. Fuck off.
To bring this all into my bad goth conclusion: Tristan da Cunha is the most isolated (inhabited) island in the world being 2800 kms from landfall in South Africa and it is through this poorly explored alegory that I make this tired late night comment on the human condition... and here's a link to a related website:
http://www.sthelena.se/tristan/tristan.htm
In this seeming isolation (at least according to this website) the inhabitants thrived. In 1961 a volcanic eruption forced the entire population to relocate temporarily. When the all clear was given, the website writes, "Almost all chose to return to the island" two years later resisting the temptations of "civilisation" and thus the fair citizens of Tristan da Cunha went onto live happily ever after. They say that "The Union Jack flies over the houses, and the hearts of the islanders are as warm and generous as they have always been." We are all alone... but it ain't all bad. What a crazed mess it all be if we couldn't retain some sense of indivuality.
Enough of the glib statements. Fuck off.
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